


A Lady with a Knife

by NorthernSun



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom - Susan Kay, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:35:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25251715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NorthernSun/pseuds/NorthernSun
Summary: 'I don't generally pay attention to dancers. They are a swarm. But I've noticed that our current Prima is accompanied by a lady, amongst her entourage. A lady, with a knife.'His last few words were reduced to a slow whisper, a velvet hiss, that encircled me and died away.'Why would that be?' He went on after a beat, his voice compelling and low, an intimate conversation between two who shared a secret. He was close; I felt that if I were to turn around he would be revealed to me, the solid manifestation of that extraordinary voice. My heart thudded in my throat, and I kept my hands clasped and visible before me. 'Not that your knife concerns me: a blade is no match for a ghost. But I like to know what happens in the halls of my opera. I miss nothing. I see everything. I am everywhere.'*Set a little while after the main events in the story we all know and love.
Relationships: Erik | Phantom of the Opera/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 25





	1. 1

The rooms were far more opulent than I was expecting; all gilt mirrors and heavy dark wallpaper, glowing in the light from the brass gas lamps mounted on the walls. Galina had stopped in the middle of the room, her furs reaching down almost to the rich carpets, and glanced around, her chin high and haughty. By then I knew that this expression generally meant that she was content with what she saw. Had the room truly displeased her it would have been written across her fine features plainly. She walked slowly to the chaise longue which stood against one wall and dropped her gloves onto it, then waved a hand to her two maids to enter, watching as they carefully deposited the cases they were carrying onto the vanity. The porter followed, carrying in the trunk and dropping it in the middle of the room. I continued to stand quietly against the wall at the other side of the room.

'No, no, not there. That one, it goes next door.'

The porter gave an almost imperceptible sigh and picked up the trunk again, carrying it through the door next to me which led to the adjoining room. My room.

Galina caught my eye.

'It is nice, yes? At some of these theatres, the back places are...' she frowned and gave a dismissive flick of her hand. 'But this one is good, I am happy. And you are happy, yes?'

'Oh yes. It’s perfectly suitable.'

The adjoining room was, in fact, quite plain compared to this grand dressing room, but there was a bed, a wardrobe, and a dressing table-come-writing desk with a mirror mounted over it. A lamp on a small night stand, and a well trodden but serviceable rug completed the furnishings. It was fairly obvious that the room was supposed to be used for storage but had been converted at some point to give this dressing room the appearance of an apartment, which was very convenient for us, particularly for me.

The porter shuffled out, nodding to Galina and myself. Galina watched as the maids busied themselves putting away the things from the small cases: powders and brushes, hair combs, pointe shoes wrapped carefully in cloth. After a moment she stepped close to me a spoke in a low voice.

'It is alright here? You have looked around?'

'Yes, I'm quite sure. We are deep in back corridors; any exterior doors are a long way off. We are surrounded on three sides by the dance school. I've observed it; it's chaotic but they don't let random strangers walk the halls back here. Gentlemen who want to, ah, _converse_ with dancers must do so in the dance foyer, and there is less need to worry about your safety there. And for now, when there are no performances, we don’t need to concern ourselves with that anyway.'

Galina nodded, the crease between her eyes smoothing slightly. 

'And...you, Marie? You are happy, staying here?'

'Yes.' I looked at her directly. 'Yes, Galina. This is fine. And it makes sense.'

She nodded again, and touched me briefly on the arm, before swinging round and hitching her furs higher on her shoulders. 'Come!' she said imperiously, waving a hand at her two little maids, who hurried behind her. I suppressed a smile and followed behind, my skirts swishing softly along the floor of the halls, which were rather cold and institutional compared to the warm opulence of the room we had left. We made our way to the house, forgoing the staff entrance to the side of the building, and emerged into a carpeted hallway which led to the grand staircase. I walked to the side and behind the two maids, only glancing over my shoulder once - already I could see Pierre and Serge standing through the doors that led to the top of the grand staircase.

Galina barely acknowledged the two men but I caught their eye and gave a small wave. Serge nodded to me and Pierre rolled his eyes to the magnificent ceiling before turning and following Galina.

I watched from the balustrade as the entourage made their way down the sweeping staircase, and out into the falling dusk. In my minds eye I watched them climb into the large brougham which would be waiting outside with David on the drivers box, sweeping them off towards the grand apartment where Galina would spend her nights, a few streets away; Serge and Pierre scanning the streets, their eyes sharp, keeping their wits about them all through the night.

I turned, and made my slow way back to the dressing room. It occurred to me then that while I was never off duty really, I currently was as close to it as I could be. My charge was safely watched over, and I was alone. Alone in what was essentially my home for now. I allowed myself to slow down, and look up. All around me, such beauty, such extravagance.

Eventually I re-entered the dressing room and shut the door being me, turning the key in the lock. Stepping into the centre of the room, I was greeted by my own reflection in the huge wall mounted mirror which covered a large part of the far wall. A straight backed figure in a dark gown stood before me; I raised my hand in greeting to her, then dropped it, allowing my shoulders to relax. The subdued lamp light picked out the faint gold cast of my hair, neatly pinned up, the pearls that hung around my neck, the gold chain of my watch. Even my skin glowed slightly across my décolletage in this flattering light. But that tense, almost severe edge remained. I rolled my shoulders slightly, then turned to take stock of the place properly. The main space of the dressing room had two doors leading off it, one to a small private bathroom, it's fittings old but perfectly serviceable. The other door led to my bedroom.

I was shaking out my gowns and hanging them in the wardrobe when I first felt a strange sensation, a prickling across the back of my shoulders; a feeling that I was not alone.

I immediately stood up straight and turned to looked out the door into the dressing room. All I could see was a distant reflection of myself in that huge mirror. I walked slowly and quietly towards the doorway, my hand moving deep into the pocket sown into my skirt to grasp the hilt of the knife that nestled in there. As I entered the dressing room, I strained my ears, forcing myself to breath deeply and slowly. But after a few moments, the sensation was gone.

I shook my head slightly. Too much time spent tense and vigilant had made me ultra sensitive, it seemed. I turned back into my room, and shut the door behind me.


	2. 2

It was my job to be watchful. That was the reason I was here, in this room, in the Opera, in Paris.

My charge, Galina Komarova, a celebrated dancer, was to take up a place at the Palias Garnier; a huge coup for the managers, for her name on any playbill was capable of drawing huge crowds. Striking and stately, she commanded the stage with her beautiful performances. She had been dancing for years and it was generally accepted that a career in ballet couldn't last forever, and so to see her dancing in her prime was a goal for lovers of the ballet. Galina didn't have to worry about her livelihood when she could no longer dance. She was mistress to an unbelievably rich aristocrat from her home country; in fact, she was apparently considered his most prized possession.

A year earlier, Galina had been threatened; with death, with abduction, all due to her connection to the Count. It transpired that her Count's political interests had led to intrigues and dealings with some unsavoury characters over the years, those who were willing to go to great lengths to manipulate him, or at least demand a huge ransom from him. It was well known that the great Galina was his mistress, and with her travelling and public appearances she could be deemed an easy target. I knew that when the threat had been made, the Count had entreated the dancer to take herself off the stage, to ensure her safety, a suggestion which had evoked a fiery and outraged response from Galina. _No_ , she would not stop dancing, not when she was finally reaching the pinnacle of her career. _No_ , she would not compromise her legacy, nor be pushed around like a pawn just because of her lovers dealings. And so a compromise was made. Galina would have security wherever she went. She travelled with guards in plain clothes who were armed at all times and encircled the dancer with their watchful eyes. Perhaps other men would not have gone to so much trouble for a mistress, cocooning her in security. Some would perhaps have simply ended such a troublesome affair. But the attachment of the Count and Galina wasn't a mere fling; their mutual affection was evident. It ran deep, I had witnessed it with my own eyes on the couple of occasions I had met with them together. No expense would be spared to protect his love.

This arrangement had thrown up problems, however. Having an entourage was normal for the dancer; in every theatre she had danced in she brought her maids with her. But she couldn't very well be trailed by armed men everyday while she moved around the corridors and rehearsal halls of a place like the Paris Opera. It wouldn't be allowed when she was working with the corps de ballet, it was impractical and drew too much attention to the dancer while she off stage. Her biggest fear was that she would be seen as risk to hire, a risk that management wouldn't want to take. She dreaded any rumours about the threats made against her. And while she acted as though the whole thing was ridiculous, she wasn't without fear; she was terrified in fact, terrified that those threats would be acted upon. She and the Count agreed that security was required, at all times. But what they needed was someone who could be with Galina, watch over her, take action if required, all without seeming too out of place. A companion, of sorts, but a prepared one. 

It was suggested that I might be the perfect fit. My uncle, who was acquainted with the Count and who I had been living with since arriving in France, introduced us. I remember the man taking me in with his hooded grey eyes when he came to the house out in the countryside, one fine spring afternoon. Clearly pleased with my presentation as a respectable young woman, dressed well, with impeccable manners, he had nonetheless appeared doubtful that I would know what to do if someone were to attack his dancer. 

'Not that you would be expected to do much. I suppose the aim is that she is not alone, that she can focus purely on her work while someone else remains vigilant, close by her.'

'Of course.'

'Someone to let the men know if there was anything suspicious noted.'

'I understand.'

His eyes had lingered on my face, which I had held in a mask of pleasant passivity. Then, so quickly that he didn't have time to flinch, I had withdrawn the short knife secreted in my skirts and thrown it in a precise line that carried the blade mere millimetres past his left ear, and embedded itself with a dull _thunk_ into the panelling on the wall behind him at the far end of the room. The Count had sat rigid, blinking in a stupefied fashion, before slowly raising a hand to clasp his untouched ear. His wide eyes stared at me in shock as I continued to stand perfectly still, my hands gently clasped before me. My uncle had sighed and stood, shaking his head and chuckling quietly as he went to retrieve the knife from the wall, handing it to me casually before placing a hand on my shoulder.

'You see? Now, I don't like her doing that in the house as it ruins the walls, but she's a dab hand with a knife!' He laughed and gave my shoulder a pat. 'An odd hobby for a young woman, but what can you say? Ladies these days have all sorts of ideas in their head! She fences too, you know.' 

The Count had merely nodded slowly, his eyebrows raised almost to his hairline.

'And it would be good for her to have some occupation. See more of the country, eh Marie? See Paris?' He gave me a squeeze. 'There isn't much for her to do, holed up here with a stuffy old uncle.'

I had smiled stiffly, keeping my eyes on the Count: my chance to move on. He had nodded; I saw him glance towards my uncle, some frisson of understanding passing between them. He'd stood and nodded once again, before leaving the room without another word. 

I left the next day, travelling to Brussels first where the lady dancer had just finished a run of performances blighted by problems due to her paranoia and swollen entourage. My uncle bid me adieu from the driveway in front of his house. 'I don't expect to see you again. Do you understand? Don't do anything to compromise your position.' Those were his final words to me. I will admit I was his most troublesome niece.

I took up my place, adapting to the role of companion. Galina and I became friends rather quickly; I saw past her haughty air and she was relieved to have me there, to no longer feel alone despite being surrounded by so many people all the time. I became a confidant to her.

'Poor Alexi, he is worried about me. Things will be better in Paris I hope. He will be there also. He has taken the most fabulous suite for me! And you will like Paris too. Everyone likes Paris. Never have I danced at the Opera before, it will be the crowning of my career.' Her voice dropped. 'And nothing must go wrong.'

And so I accompanied Galina wherever she went, sweeping along behind her like a lady-in-waiting, for that is the closest description I could think of for my position. I was no lady's maid; she had other women to dress her hair and tie her corsets. I myself dressed in fine gowns, although nothing too extravagant or eye catching. We arrived in Paris where Galina was happily to take up residence in a suite in an hotel, joined by her lover. It had been my suggestion that I would stay at the Opera itself. My main duty was to keep watch while Galina was in the building, while the men were responsible for everything else. It was convenient, and like everyone else, I wanted time to myself, away from this new life of mine. 

And so I was left alone, that first night, in my strange new home. How far I had come. How ready I was to become invisible. 


	3. 3

A routine was soon established. Each day I would wake up early, dress, and walk the quiet corridors of the Opera, looking. Some days, when there was time, I left the building to take the short walk across the plaza to the Cafe de la Paix, where I took coffee and a croissant. I sat out on the terrace and watched the Parisians as they strolled, enjoying the normality, the life, the fashions on display, at once present but separate. I would return to the Opera to wait by the doors for Galina to arrive in her carriage, marking the start of my work day. We would walk, arm in arm, up the grand staircase, Serge and Pierre close by, leaving them behind as we entered the backstage area. Those two men employed by the Count were never too far away; they stationed themselves in the grand foyer and at the entrance, and I was told that should I need them all I had to do was send for them. They were to be at every performance once the season began, hidden in the audience and the wings. 

But that hidden world backstage was my responsibility, and living within the Opera showed me quickly what a world that was. I was in the midst of a town which existed within the walls of that incredible building. Galina fully wasn't aware of the size of the place even; she spent those first weeks in rehearsals within the Ballet school, and we only tended to move from the dressing room, to the rehearsal room, to the stage. In the middle of the day we would go together to the dressing room, share lunch, and talk of the Opera she would be dancing in. One day, she glanced into my room after I had left the door open, and exclaimed in surprise.

'What on earth are those?' She said, pointing towards the desk.

'Blueprints.' I said, mildly. 'Plans, of the whole building. I wanted to make sure I wasn't missing anything.'

'The managers, they give you these?'

'No - I didn't want to draw attention to myself. It might have seemed odd for a prima ballerina's assistant to request such things. But there is a small library here, a sort of archive I suppose. I found what I needed there.' Andre and Firmin didn't need to know, and I was only borrowing them.

Galina nodded slowly. 'Good. It is good you think of these things.', she said after a moment, and I saw her given me one of those looks that I sometimes caught on her face when she regarded me; an appraising, slightly wary look. I turned away and finished tidying up the remains of our lunch.

Each evening I walked Galina back to the Grand Foyer, where she swept off to meet her Count, trailed by the men of course, at a different restaurant each night. Some evenings I was invited too, and I sometimes considered accepting. But I remained at the Opera, wandering the halls, the auditorium, the public areas. The place was huge; I knew I was only scratching the surface with each small expedition.

And then there was the music. I was surrounded by music, all day, and into the evening. Wandering the halls I would hear music issuing from rooms in the late afternoon and into the evening; individual chorus members or groups from the orchestra rehearsing their parts here and there. All day Galina danced to piano accompaniment. I would sit to the side of the room, listening, finding myself excited at the prospect of hearing the full orchestra playing the ever more familiar melodies. I had missed music; I could play the piano myself, though only as well as a young woman who would be expected to recite in the parlours of grand houses, for the benefit of finding a husband, was expected to play. And with those days far behind me I hadn't touched a piano in a long time. It was nice to listen, to hear the music performed by those with skill and passion. 

And then, at night, silence would fall. 

I didn't sleep well; I never had. I often took to the corridors, determination to know everywhere that the blueprints had shown me pushing me on, walking for what felt like miles, moving between patches of moonlight in the richly carpeted halls of the upper floors. It was during those hours that I felt that creeping sensation again; I felt, although it seemed impossible, that I was being watched. I would slip my knife from it's pocket and hold it in my hand as I slowly made my way, my ears and eyes straining in the silence, but nothing would reveal itself. Then I would turn and make my way back to my room, to sit before the little mirror and unpin my thick, golden brown hair, to tug at it's ends and cast a critical eye over it's length, willing it to grow quicker. On those nights I only felt totally alone once my door bedroom door was shut and locked.

I berated myself for my paranoia. But I couldn't shake it.

*

'These little ballet girls, they are so undisciplined!' 

Galina was complaining while she sat in front of her dressing table having her hair pinned and dressed by one of the maids. She reached up to adjust the headdress which sat amongst the coils of her hair. Today was the first dress rehearsal of the new production, and her full-skirted costume hung pristine on a hanger in front of the mirror. 

'I think they dance quite well. To my eyes anyway, but I can't pretend to know a huge amount about ballet.' I sat behind her on the chaise longue, watching her face as she appraised her reflection.

'Oh, their dancing is fine.' Galina waved a dismissive hand. 'It is passable. No: I talk of the way they conduct themselves! They shriek and gossip all day long. God knows what it's like in those dormitories. When I was a girl, in the school in Moscow, we would have been punished for being so unruly. Such behaviour!'

It was true. The corps de ballet were a noisy, excitable bunch. 

'And never have I met with girls who are so- what is the word? Ah - _Superstitious_!'

'Aren't theatre types known for being superstitious? Even you, dear Galina.' I smiled at her in the glass. She had her rituals; she kept a horseshoe by the door which she touched reverently before leaving the room. I had even witnessed her curse beneath her breath at a stagehand who had the audacity to whistle back stage while he manoeuvred one of the newly painted set pieces into place. 

She gave a little shrug. 'The things I do, they are for good luck. But these girls are obsessed. They talk of a ghost. They must do things, _to keep the ghost away_.'

'Oh. So we have a haunted Opera?'

'So they say.' I watched as Galina stood up and turned to allow the other maid to help her step into her costume. She raised an eyebrow at me, her hands on her hips. 'I don't believe in ghosts. Do you?'

I was spared answering by a knock at the door. It was Meg Giry, one of the older dancers, who lead the first row and who seemed to be in a constant state of awe around Galina. She bobbed a little curtsey towards her and in a breathless voice said, 'Bonjour, mademoiselle. I just wanted to tell you to break a leg before the dress rehearsal!'

Galina merely nodded at her. It was amusing to see how others reacted to her haughty attitude and abrasive tone. I almost felt sorry for Meg Giry, who's smile faltered at Galina's cool acceptance of her wishes of good luck. I wanted to tell her not to take it personally. 

Galina suddenly turned back to Meg. 'It's Giry isn't it? You, what do you know about this ghost that all you girls talk of? We would like to know.' She gestured to me, and Meg glanced towards me in surprise, as though she'd only just noticed me sitting there, so enraptured was she with the great dancer before her. 

'Oh, yes, the Ghost! We have to be very careful. The Opera Ghost has caused all sorts of trouble in the past, but as long as we remain respectful of him he mainly stays quiet now.'

'Now?'

Meg nodded eagerly. 'A couple of years ago he was much more troublesome! Some of the younger girls make up all sorts of things, but I saw with my own eyes what he did, and so did my mother. So did the stagehands. If anything irritated the Ghost, terrible things would happen. He was responsible for the chandelier that fell on the auditorium, no matter what the management say! But now we all know better. We greet the ghost before we step foot on stage, or before we walk down his corridors.'

' _His_ corridors?' Galina looked at me and rolled her eyes.

'Yes, the whole Opera House is his, really. And we in the corps de ballet know to respect that.' Meg's voice was solemn and knowing. 'Nobody wants to get their head or leg broken by an accident on stage! But nothing like that has happened for a long time, because we treat the Ghost with respect. He was at his worst when...' She lowered her voice to a stage whisper, glancing over her shoulder, '...when _Christine Daae_ still sang here. But after she ran off we heard very little from him. Some think it was her voice that enraged the Ghost, when she wouldn't obey him. There were all sorts of strange happenings. We don't let him hear us talking about her.' Her voice returned to normal. 'But that was ages ago, and now, he is mostly quiet. Sometimes we feel his presence, haunting the halls.' Meg seemed to visibly shiver, her eyes wide. 'He's still here. He'll always be here.' 

'I have not heard of this singer.' Galina turned and examined her reflection in the huge mirror. 

'No. Her career was short, she was the absolute toast of the Opera for a while!' Meg said earnestly. 'But then she married a Vicomte and left the stage'

'Hmmm. Well, I have also not felt this _haunting._ Marie, maybe you have?' She said this with a smile, but I was still looking at Meg, and thinking of the strange feeling of being watched in the corridors at night. 'Marie?' 

I glanced back at Galina, who was looking at me quizzically.

'I have nothing to report about any ghosts.' I said, standing and smoothing the dark green velvet of my dress. 'Hadn't we better get going?'

I walked behind Galina as she stepped briskly along the corridors towards the stage, her skirts flouncing on her hips. Meg kept pace with me; I was aware of her at my elbow.

'I've seen you in the rehearsal room. I wasn't sure whether you were another dancer, or...'

'No, not a dancer.' I glanced at the girl and she continued to look at me with interest. 'I'm Mademoiselle Komarova's assistant.' Meg seemed to be impressed, her eyes alight with the idea of being such a grand dancer that you could have an _assistant_ trail after you all day, and I left it at that. 

I remained in the wings as the dancers rehearsed, in full costume and with the orchestra. I was thrilled to finally hear the score played in this way, but I couldn't enjoy the music; I was not there to watch the performance. With the rehearsal of the full production underway I was able to fully comprehend just how many people would be milling around backstage and in the wings, and I was watchful of all of them, committing to memory who would be there, and where they would move, so that I would be able to spot anything out of place once the Opera was open. I moved quietly about the wings, keeping watch, raising my eyes to the catwalks above the stage when the backdrops were changed. I planned on speaking with Pierre and Serge, to prepare them for when they too would be in the theatre. 

Out in the stalls I could see the managers, Fermin and Andre, watching intently and occasionally whispering to one another as Galina danced her solo on the stage, satisfied smiles on their lips. My eyes roamed over the auditorium, the house lights lowered to the subdued golden glow of the chandelier high above. In three days the house would be full, the upper echelons of Parisian society ensconced in the boxes. I eyed them carefully. Would anyone dare do something as drastic as making an attempt on the life of a Prima Ballerina while she danced on stage in front of hundreds of people? I had never thought so. The risk was when she was in quiet places, alone. Anyway, it was far more likely that she would be held for a ransom, grabbed in some deserted corridor and bundled off. That wouldn't happen now, not if I could help it. Everything depended on her safety, my own position included.

Later, I watched as Galina made her way down the stairs to her carriage, the men walking beside her. The evening was light and cool, dusk just starting to fall. The plaza was busy with people; I watched as couples out for their evening promenade strolled arm in arm. Paris, glorious and glittering, surrounded me. There was nothing to stop me from walking it's streets myself. But I wouldn't, not tonight. I had been invited to dinner again that evening, but I made my excuses, much to Galina's exasperation. 

'You must come tomorrow then, or the day after. It is sad, this staying at the Opera every evening! So empty. I cannot wait for the season to begin.' 

I didn't want to make conversation with her and her Count, and have his watchful eyes on me, Galina oblivious. I had my own plans. I turned and made my way back inside. 

Back in my rooms I decided to take a bath, to pass the time until night fell properly. The running water filled the little bathroom with steam, and I crossed the main dressing room area into my bedroom to retrieve my bath oils, an indulgence of mine. While I spent much of my time being quite and restrained, I retained my fondness for the finer things in life. I soaked in scented oils and massage my skin with expensive creams. My dresses were well cut and elegant, the dark and muted colours rendered in velvets and shot silk. I had a small case filled with a selection of tasteful jewellery; a string of pearls, a rope of small diamonds, an emerald on a silver chain. I paid attention to my hair, keeping it glossy and pinning it carefully - a necessity now while it hung at it's unsatisfactory length, barely below my shoulders.

It was when I was collecting the oils that I saw the note, lying on top of the plans that I had left out on the dressing table. A single sheet, folded over and sealed with wax. I froze, the bottle of oil in my hand, staring at it, then glanced quickly back into the dressing room. I always made sure the door was locked; it was essential, especially when Galina was in the building. I reached out slowly to pick up the note, and cracked the seal.

_Mademoiselle,_

_You seem to take a great interest in my theatre. Be careful; it is dangerous for a woman to walk alone at night, no matter how well she thinks she can defend herself._

I stared at the paper for several minutes, reading and re-reading the words scrawled in a strangely spiked hand, a chill running down my back. Of course, my thoughts flew to that faceless group who threatened Galina. But that didn't sit right with me: _my theatre._ I mouthed the words silently, then glanced back towards the plans on the desk. Had one of the managers left this? Fermin and Andre hadn't seemed particularly interested in probing further into my presence in the opera, their eyes glancing over me as they did with Galina's maids when they were briefly introduced, readily accepting that I was merely part of their star dancer's entourage. And if, somehow, they had become aware that I had taken these blueprints, and had been incensed enough to protest, why on earth would they leave such a strange note, sneaking it into my room like this? 

I frowned down at the note, surprised to see it tremble slightly in my fingers. I folded it again and placed it in the drawer of the desk, next to my jewellery box, shutting the drawer, then slowly gathered up my robe and walked back towards the bathroom. On the other side of the locked outer door I could hear the steps of a group of ballet girls as they scuttled down the hall way, no doubt heading back to their dormitory after a late-running class.

This was a breach into the bubble of safety that was supposed to be surrounding the dancer, and by rights anything suspicious that occurred should be reported, immediately, to the Count and his men. I knew this. But as I sank down into the hot water of the bath, the scent of jasmine surrounding me, I knew I wouldn't say anything. That note wasn't for the dancer. It was for me. 

_So someone_ is _watching me_ , I thought to myself. Watching me while I explore. Who, within the walls of an opera house, would do that? A stagehand perhaps, one of those men who roamed the catwalks and cellars just below the stage, who played tricks on the dancers and leered in the shadows. I had no doubt that the dancers (and some of the chorus too) had their ideas of a ghost fanned by the antics of the backstage crew. I didn't have patience for these kinds of threats, an underlying warning that lay in those words. Whoever had scrawled them alluded to me being able to defend myself. They were right, I could. Far better than they could know. 

I rose from the water and went about dressing, picking out a black velvet gown with long sleeves. I sat before the mirror and re-pinned my hair, surveying my face. The skin across my cheeks had lost some of the colour caused by spending so much time outdoors, the sun-kissed cheekbones almost pale again. I powdered my face, hoping to disguise the faint shadows that lay below my eyes, my iris' dark blue-grey in the lamp light. I rose, and leaned over the plans briefly, tracing a finger along the route I planned to take, before rolling them up. Finally, I swept my dark hooded cloak over my shoulders. It would be chilly in the night air. 

I would see the streets of Paris tonight after all, but I would see them from above. And a scrawled note wouldn't stop me. 


	4. 4

It was indeed chilly on the roof of the Opera House. A stiff wind had started, it flew in gusts and caught at my cloak and hair, pulling strands from their pins. I leaned against the parapet and stared out over the city, vast and sprawling out and away from me, as thought he Opera was it's very epicentre. 

I had always wanted to visit Paris. I had never known in what context I would make the journey; I suppose other girls in the position I had once been in would have hoped that when they married they would be whisked off by their new husbands to the so called city of romance. But I had never had daydreams centred around marriage and honeymoons. Perhaps a more suitable daydream, for me anyway, would have been to imagine myself embarking on a Grand Tour, visiting not only Paris, but Geneva, Venice, Rome, Dresden, and anywhere else I decided. More suitable, more fitting perhaps, but an unrealistic daydream all the same. 

My mother had been French. Had she not died so very early, would I have had more opportunities to visit her homeland? She barely kept in contact with her brother, my Uncle, who had disliked my Father and who couldn't understand why she selected an eccentric Scotsman for a husband. My Uncle kept an estate a little distance outside of Rheims, and my unexpected arrival in France several months ago had been the first time I had seen the place. He hadn't been happy to see me, but I was in trouble and had no-one else to turn to by that point. He had regarded me with exasperation, and something akin to embarrassment; a woman turned thirty, unmarried, with no position in society due to her Father's escapades. That was before he even knew the worst of it. 

I tried to turn my thoughts away from those unhappy months at the estate and attempted to focus on the here and now. Paris! Here I was. In circumstances I could never have predicted. I was as anonymous as I could be and for the time being I had a place and a purpose. It was a strange job no doubt, but it was infinitely more suitable for me than the other things my Uncle had suggested, desperate as he was to get me off his hands. He had the gall to suggest I take up a place as a governess. I had secretly decided then that if that was to be my fate I would simply run again, disappear completely and let him feel guilt for the rest of his life about it. I had money secreted away that he didn't know about, enough to last a little while. But then his acquaintance the Count had mentioned his very specific problem, and an agreement was made. 

I turned and began to make my way across the roof to the doorway which would lead downwards, feeling that tonight I might finally sleep well, and if not well, then better. I was careful to shut the door behind me and quietly began my descent, keeping one hand on the wall; I had brought no lamp and I waited for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. I had just emerged onto the muffled silence of one of the carpeted upper corridors, when I saw it; a figure, a _shadow_ , standing at the far end of the corridor.

I froze, staring hard into the darkness, and after a moment it was as though the shadow had dissolved; it was as though it had never been there. I blinked hard and willed my eyes to pierce the darkness more effectively, but there was nothing there. I slowly resumed my pace down the hall.

The voice, when it spoke in my ear, froze my blood and trapped my breath in my chest.

'You strike me as someone who is not afraid of the dark.'

The words came from behind me, as though the person, the man, the _being_ in possession of that voice was standing behind my right shoulder. I stood absolutely still.

'Perhaps that is why you seem to take such delight in roaming these halls at night.' The note that now lay in a drawer several floors below swam in my minds eye. 'Now...' the voice moved from my right shoulder to the left.

'I don't generally pay attention to dancers. They are a swarm. But I've noticed that our current Prima is accompanied by a lady, amongst her entourage. A lady, with a knife.'

His last few words were reduced to a slow whisper, a velvet hiss, that encircled me and died away.

'Why would that be?' He went on after a beat, his voice compelling and low, an intimate conversation between two who shared a secret. He was close; I felt that if I were to turn around he would be revealed to me, the solid manifestation of that extraordinary voice. My heart thudded in my throat, and I kept my hands clasped and visible before me. 'Not that your knife concerns me: a blade is no match for a _ghost_. But I like to know what happens in the halls of my opera. I miss nothing. I see everything. I am everywhere.'

I slowly dropped my trembling hands to my sides. The presence of the man (it had to be a man, not a _ghost_ , my inner voice told me with an edge of hysteria) loomed behind me. The only sound now was my own breathing, and my own heartbeat, which I fought to control. Slowly, I turned around.

He wasn't standing directly behind me, as I had thought due to the proximity of that voice, but several feet away, shadow made solid, in a patch of darkness between two weak beams of moonlight from the windows. 

He was tall, a head taller than I was, and he was swathed in a cloak that gave his figure no real distinction in the darkness. He seemed to be regarding me thoughtfully; his head was slightly tilted to one side, but I couldn't see his features at all, only a slight glimmer from his eyes. We stood facing one another, in silence.

Suddenly he spoke again. 'What is your name?' His tone was almost conversational.

'Marie...' I sounded breathless, much to my horror.

'No no. I mean, what is your _real_ name, mademoiselle?'

'I- Marie is my name....'

He laughed, a laugh so soft and low that was delivered with a slight shake of his head. Then, he stepped forward slightly, into that weak almost-light from the window, revealing his face, or not revealing it, for he wore a mask which covered almost all of it apart from his mouth and chin; it glowed ghostly pale, floating in the darkness. He continued to gaze at me from glimmering eyes.

'Alright, _Marie_. As you wish. I will allow you to keep that particular secret for now. But I would still like to know more about your situation here. I fully expect to know the whole story before long.'

'Who _are_ yo-'

He held up one gloved finger to stop me just as I actually managed to gather my wits enough to speak. 'You should get back, it's very late. And here, you might need this.' With a flourish of his fingers, a knife, _my_ knife, appeared in his hand. He held it for a moment blade up, then with a small, gentle flick tossed it towards me so that spun slowly through the air. I watched as it fell spinning in a gentle arc, landing at my feet with a quiet thud. A small (but annoyed-sounding) voice in the back of my head said: _You could have caught that._

I stared, dumbstruck, at the knife on the carpet before me, before looking back up at the man in the mask. But of course, he was already gone. 


	5. 5

Galina commented twice the next day on my pale face and dark-circled eyes, which I knew meant I must really look terrible; she wasn't normally so observant of other peoples appearance, or particularly concerned. I brushed off her comments and spent the day quietly standing about, worrying. 

The masked man from the upper corridor stalked me in my thoughts. How long had our conversation, such as it was, lasted? Minutes only, but his words, spoken in that voice, wouldn't leave me. The walls of the building, the rehearsal rooms and passageways, where I had moved around feeling safe in my anonymity only the day before suddenly felt exposed. But more than that, I was questioning my own sanity. Did the conversation really happen? Had the weeks and months of living in this restrained, reduced guise finally taken their toll and driven me to invent masked shadows who appeared out of nowhere and spoke to my fears? The man had taken my blade and seen through my name. He had laughed about it.

What was worse was my desire to hear that voice again, invented or not.

I mentally shook myself, and dragged my attention back to my surroundings. Galina was talking in a bad-tampered manner with the choreographer and the corps de ballet were moving to leave the room for the afternoon; rehearsals were over. I gathered myself and moved to stand next to the door, waiting until Galina took her leave and started towards the dressing room to change. As we made our way down the wide whitewashed hallway I could see Meg Giry ahead of us; she turned as we made our way towards her, Galina leading the way, and stood back against the wall to let us past. She smiled and nodded towards the dancer, who nodded curtly in response, and I was surprised when she then made eye contact with me and didn't break it, nodding once again. I returned her oddly intense glance for a moment, then turned my eyes forwards, back towards Galina who walked at pace in that odd duck-footed way she had when still in her dancing shoes, muttering continually.

'That man! He shouldn't be worrying over me, my performance will be perfect. It's those girls he should be concerning himself with...'

The maids flurried around her in the dressing room, while I stood silently, impatient to be free of her so I could think. When she had finally pinned her hat to her hair and signalled that she was ready to leave I stepped into my room quickly and seized my cloak from it's hook on the wall.

'Ah! You have decided to join us tonight then? Won't you need to change for dinner? I can wait.'

'No, no,' I said quickly, before she settled herself on the chaise. 'I just need some air...a short walk, I think, will do me good.'

'Hmmm. Well. You don't look well you know, I have said this.'

I chose not to respond.

We made our way to the Grand Foyer where Serge and Pierre waited. As Galina swept ahead, Serge held back, approaching me with a nod of his head.

'The Count was hoping you would be available for a meeting.' He spoke in a low voice, his expression inscrutable.

'Of course. I have notes to relay about the backstage area, for you and Pierre too.' He nodded and turned, extending an arm as though to lead me out to the carriage. 'But...' I faltered. 'Not tonight. Tomorrow would be more suitable.'

Serge gazed at me for a moment. 'Something on your mind, miss?'

I met his eye and straightened my posture. 'Of course not. I simply ask that we arrange a meeting for tomorrow. Opening night is in two days and I want to be well prepared before I speak with the Count.' 

He held my eye for a moment longer then nodded once more, walking away without another word. I let out a breath. The Count probably wouldn't like this but I was incapable of meeting with him tonight, of talking endlessly about his precious dancer and having him remind me that I was _his employee_ for now. I waited five minutes then made my own way out the doors and into the cool afternoon, turning to walk up the Rue Scribe and away from the Opera House. 

I picked up my pace and walked, acknowledging the thought that had been whispering in my ear since I'd locked my door with clammy hands the night before, my heart hammering in my chest after the encounter in the corridor. _You could leave_. Pack up what I could carry and go, take what small portable assets I had and abandon this attempt at hiding in plain sight. This was Paris, there must be somewhere that I could safely sell on the jewels I had carried with me these last months. Not my own understated things, my pearls, my diamonds, my dark emerald. No; in the false bottom of my jewellery case lay my last stash of wealth. Jewels that I had carried all the way from home, far more fabulous than anything a person in my position would wear. I had kept them hidden thinking that once I was on the Continent I would be able to rid myself of them more easily. There was also a small roll of cash that would serve to cover my needs for a short while. I'd kept all of this from my Uncle of course. My insurance, for a life that I had not planned out yet.

For that was the problem; I had no plan. I liked to think I was no fool. I knew realistically that disappearing successfully wasn't an easy achievement. I had hoped to pass enough time as quietly and anonymously as possible until I could think what to do next. My Uncle and his dealings with people like the Count had led me to this point, and it had seemed to be a good option. But now it seemed I wasn't anonymous, or unnoticed. I was not invisible. 

Who was the masked man? The image of him, indistinct in the dark, filled me with a hollow dread. I was still not entirely convinced that he was real. _Ridiculous_ , I told myself, _he was there, in front of you. You aren't mad, not yet. You've come close but you've yet to suffer from hallucinations._

_Ah,_ the persistent voice of my mind continued _, but think of your family. Think of your dear Father._

Yes, Father. A man so erratic, so crazed at times with wild ideas, a man impossible to know truly. It had been widely accepted that he was mad. When all of my own misdeeds were laid out to see there would be knowing whispers spread through the parlours of society at home. _Old Williams daughter, did you know? Mad as well, it turns out._

What if it was true? 

No. I spoke with that man. I didn't believe I was capable of inventing a voice like that. And while he was a strange figure for sure, he was still definitely a real man, as solid as I was. And he had observed enough of me to know that I carried a blade and that I was living under a disguise of sorts. If that was the case, then hadn't I better find out how he had come to watch me, before I take any rash action, before I give up this chance to hide for a while longer at least? He asked _why_ I was in the Opera, not _how_ I had come to be there. If I knew who he was then I could make a decision. If I decided I did, in fact, need to run, then I would take measures to first ensure that the man would not obstruct me. He had taken my knife once, I thought grimly, but that wouldn't happen again.

I had walked for a long time without paying much attention to my surroundings, but now I paused and looked up and around. The elegant facades of the light stone buildings below the low, pale sky suddenly felt alien to me, and I wished, for a moment, to be back beneath the chill open skies of home, to be back once again amongst buildings that towered dark-grey against wide vistas of surrounding hills; views that were often suffused in that odd light, at once pale blue and gold, that I'd never seen anywhere else other than along that easterly Scottish coast where my Father's family had lived for centuries. How strange to be homesick for a place that I thought I had no great love for, even fleetingly. I had always wanted to leave, having absorbed my poor Mother's dissatisfaction with her adopted home. But the vision was so sharp that for a moment I felt a keen devastation that I would never return there. It was the first time in months that I had thought of it, and I turned my mind away. 

I was a stranger here, it was true. But I was here, and I had to deal with the problems that faced me. I would return to the Opera, and that corridor (for I didn't know where else to start), and I would prove to myself that I was not mad. I would face the masked man, and his voice.

*

On the way back to the Opera I paid more attention to my surroundings, and found the distraction welcome. I allowed myself to stroll, taking in the window displays in the shops, feeling calmer and more focused now that I had made a decision. I stopped for some food and coffee and by the time I reached the stage doors night was falling. 

The backstage areas were quiet, but not completely devoid of activity now that opening night was only two days away. In the cavernous area where the set pieces were prepared one or two men were dotted here and there on scaffolds, paintbrushes in hand as they made additions to the scenes. As I passed behind the stage, keeping to the darker areas, I craned my neck to see figures moving about the catwalks, adjusting the pulleys and weights that would raise and lower the enormous screens. 

In the dressing room, I shed my cloak and sat on the chaise. My pale face was reflected back at me from the mirror on the vanity. Mirrors, everywhere, in this place; from the smallest dressing room to the grandest hallway. Galina never seemed to tire of seeing herself, although she must have been accustomed it, as all the dancers were, forced to scrutinise their forms in the mirrors of the rehearsal rooms. I stood and turned to face myself in the full length mirror, staring into my own eyes, hoping to see a hint of my true self. An austere version stared back at me. 

'Go, and find the man.'

I nodded at this simple instruction issued from my own lips, and smoothed my dress before turning and leaving the room. 

The stage had cleared and the house was empty as I moved back through the building, out into the Grand Foyer, along silent hallways, up and up until I found that carpeted corridor once more. It was dark, but no darker than it had been the previous night, as moonlight still found its way in through the windows. The place was deserted, or so it seemed. I slowed to stand at the window, craning to see out above it's high windowsill.

'There's no view from here. Not really. In fact, I believe you have already visited the best viewing spot the building has to offer.'

I whipped around immediately, turning from side to side to locate the source of the voice. He was standing three windows along from me, looking out with more ease than I, given his height. I could see him far more clearly than I could the night before, illuminated as he was by the moonlight, but still cast in that slightly unreal monotone. He wore a dark evening suit, with an opera cape which was thrown back over his shoulders, and when he turned very slightly towards me I could see he held a hat in his hand. At first, in profile, all I could see was the white glow of his mask, the skin of his mouth and chin the only natural part of his face visible to me. His hair appeared dark in the subdued light, swept back from his forehead. But when he turned his eyes burned from within the shadowed holes of the mask. I didn't look away. He stared at me for a long moment.

'I mean the roof, of course. No knife tonight?'

'I have it.' I was glad to hear that my voice was stronger than it had been the night before, though my heart was still beating at an uncomfortable rate. There was a palpable intimidating energy coming from this man, despite his conversational tone. He stood perfectly still, observing me intently. I turned to face him fully.

'You wanted to know why I'm here in this opera house-'

' _My_ opera house.'

'I will tell you, if you tell me who you are.'

'I don't make deals.'

He stared for a moment longer before slowly sidling off into the shadows. I tensed; I didn't want him moving away into a gloomy spot of the corridor where I could no longer see him clearly. I felt extremely exposed and the knife in my pocket didn't reassure me, not now. 

' I _will_ tell you why I'm here.' I swallowed. 'I'm simply here to keep watch over someone. The dancer, the Prima Ballerina, like you said. I- I've been employed as a sort of companion for her. She has to dance here, but her benefactor has reason to worry for her safety. So I stay with her and keep my eyes open, and if anyone were to approach her when they shouldn't I-'

'What would you do? Slit their throat?'

My little speech died in my throat as that dry, slightly amused voice made it's way behind my shoulder. I turned to see him standing behind me, his arms crossed and head tilted slightly as he stared levelly at me. 'What an interesting job.'

I couldn't think how to reply. The eyes, that glimmered at me from behind the mask which hid his expression from me, were sharp and intelligent, and I couldn't help feeling that he was making fun of me. I steeled myself.

'Why did you ask about my name, last night?'

'I wanted you to tell me what it is.'

'And I did. And you laughed. Why?'

His eyes roamed around my face for a moment. 'Because it is not your name. Mademoiselle, it is far harder than people think it is to go by an assumed name. It takes effort.' He shrugged elegantly. 'I've observed you on more than one occasion hesitating when you were addressed as, what was it? Ah yes, _Marie_. Missing your cue, as it were. You need to try harder.' 

'Observed me? What do you mean?'

At that moment there was a sound from the far end of the corridor, where double doors led out on to one of the upper balconies above the Grand Foyer. We both turned towards it. When the man spoke again his voice was low and had taken on that strange quality once again, as though his voice was coming from everywhere and nowhere, as though only I could hear it. 

'I'm going now. I'm sure we'll meet again soon.' He placed the hat on his head, the brim angled down so that his masked face was hidden in shadow.

'But why are you even watching me? _Who are you_?' I felt almost frantic, a combination of fear and frustration at the man for toying with me like this. 

' _Keep your voice down!_ ' The voice which uttered this command was harsh, and seemed to ring inside my head. In the next instant gloved hands had seized my both of my wrists in a vice-like grip and pulled me into the shadows of one of the doorways which led off the corridor. I found myself face to face with the man, who glared down at me, his eyes burning, and in that moment I felt something close to terror. He towered above me, and his grip on my wrists tightened as I gasped, appalled at the situation I was in. But in the next second the anger which flared in his eyes dispersed; he glanced down at his hands, the long fingers wrapped around my wrists, and he released me, taking a step back. I stood, frozen, watching as his tall angular form straightened and his breathing steadied. After a moment he met my eye again.

'I must go now. If I decide to continue our conversation, I shall find you.'

With that he strode away from me up the corridor, glancing once over his shoulder towards the double doors; I followed his gaze, half expecting to see the person who had made the noise appear, probably one of the firemen who patrolled the Opera keeping watch for errant flames, but there was no sign of anyone. I took a few steps out of the doorway and found myself alone. Once again, it was as though the masked man had never been there. 

I made my way back down towards the Grand Foyer, which glittered in the low lamp light. I felt light-headed, stunned by the rapid changes in the man's demeanour, and I still didn't know who he was or why he was taunting me in this way. But I also knew, without a doubt, that he would find me again. 


End file.
